Gray Matter (2 page)

She pulled the T-shirt away from her body so it didn’t cling and climbed into the Rabbit.

“Close your eyes, son of mine. I have a surprise for you.”

“Aw, Mom…”

“Just humor an old woman, please.”

When his eyes were tightly closed, PJ removed the cupcakes from her bag and fumbled with the cellophane wrapper. The crinkling noise aroused her son’s curiosity, and she saw his eyes open into slits. She marveled at the perfection of his black eyelashes, remembering her first glimpse of them as her newborn son nuzzled her breast in the birthing room.

“No peeking.”

“Aw, Mom…”

“You know, you really should work on developing your vocabulary. You’re not going to get far in the business world with a two-word repertoire.” Her words brought a reluctant smile. She fit the candles, balancing the cupcakes on her knee.

“OK, open up. Happy birthday to us!”

Mother and son blew out the candles, and each ate a cupcake in trademark fashion: she pulled the chocolate icing off the top in a single sheet and savored it, then popped the entire bare cupcake into her mouth; he broke his in half and licked out the cream before eating the rest in deliberately small bites to make it last as long as possible.

It was a good thing they had that moment to remember, because the rest of the day went downhill from there. The heat and rushing wind set their nerves on edge. Long periods with no conversation gave them plenty of time to think about what had happened and what was happening. The breakup and divorce were fresh in both of their minds, and neither had the emotional distance needed to put their new lives in perspective. PJ thought that Thomas genuinely missed his father, and she, grudgingly, angrily, missed Steven too.

Detective Leo Schultz didn’t have a private office. It irked him that after thirty-two years with the St. Louis Police Department, he didn’t have sixty square feet to call his own, with a door he could close when he needed to make a private phone call or just felt like scratching his butt or his balls, depending on what kind of day it had been. His desk was in a room with two other detectives and his immediate supervisor, Sergeant Leroy Twiller, all of them younger than he was. At age fifty-four, Schultz was the fossil of Homicide.

Hobbs over there probably hadn’t even been born when I joined the Department,
he snapped to himself.

Stuck at his current rank for many years and likely to remain there, he used to joke with his fellow officers about having reached his level of incompetence. There were no more jokes, at least not to his face. His most recent partner, a mere youth of thirty-five, was promoted three years ago. Since that time, his field assignments dried up, leaving him shuffling papers.

What had particularly irritated him was that a newly hired detective from Alabama had been using his desk yesterday while Schultz had a day off. The slob had spilled coffee on his desk pad and left Schultz’s phone receiver smelling of some wimpy after-shave. Schultz had wiped the phone with a wad of dampened toilet paper, but the smell lingered, fueling his anger every time he lifted the receiver.

His phone rang, and Schultz picked it up with two fingers and held it a couple of inches from his ear.

“Schultz.”

“Howard here. You had dinner yet? I got some sandwiches, good stuff. Come over to the office, we need to talk.”

Schultz rarely got invited to Lieutenant Howard Wall’s office, and when he did, it was to be chewed out about something. The lieutenant was Sergeant Twiller’s boss, and Schultz generally didn’t interact with him. But Wall sounded OK on the phone, almost congenial. Schultz figured that little piece Wall had on the side must be putting out regularly, since he was certain the lieutenant’s home life didn’t account for the good mood.

“Sit down, Schultz. Have a sandwich, ham or corned beef, your choice. Chips, too, those barbecued ones. Your favorite, right?”

This was not his usual interaction with Wall. Lowering himself into a chair, he reached out for the corned beef, unwrapped it, and dumped a pile of chips on the spread-out wrapper. Wall handed him a paper cup with a straw jauntily sticking out. For a minute or so, both men occupied themselves with the first bites of their sandwiches and a handful of chips, munching and swallowing almost in synch. Then Schultz sipped from the paper cup.

“Christ, Howard, when did you start drinking this diet crap?”

“Since my wife said my ass was getting so wide that my buttocks were total strangers to each other.”

Schultz laughed and tossed another handful of chips into his mouth. He hated diet soda, but he took a big swallow. It seemed the expedient thing to do.

“So what’s with the royal treatment? It’s not like you buy me dinner every day.”

“God, it amazes me to see those famous powers of detection at work.” Wall leaned back in his chair, both hands grasping an overflowing ham sandwich. “Seriously, I’ve got a proposition for you.”

This caught Schultz’s attention. Howard released his chair, letting it fall down with a thump. He put down the sandwich and steepled his fingers, elbows resting on the desk. The gesture reminded Schultz of the childish rhyme about the church and the steeple. Mentally, he had Wall interlock his Angers and wiggle them—
Open the doors, see all the people.
From long association, Schultz knew that the man was trying to put a good face on something neutral, bad, or very bad.

“You’ve probably heard,” Wall said, “about the homicide over on Euclid. Clint wrote up the scene. Take my word for it, it’s going to be a juicy one.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve probably also heard about the Computerized Homicide Investigations Project, CHIP. There was a memo about it two, three months ago.”

“CHIP. Yes. Sort of.”

“The captain thinks that this homicide would be suitable for CHIP’s first case.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Schultz said.

“The project needs a detective to handle the field work. An experienced detective. You.”

The sandwiches were forgotten. Schultz processed the statements, but his brain got stuck on “field work.” After years of being relegated to desk jobs, he had almost given up the hope of getting an assignment like the one being dangled in front of him now. And if it sounded too good to be true…

“What’s the catch?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a catch, but the assignment does have special circumstances.”

Schultz let his raised eyebrows speak for him.

“Your team leader will be a civilian employee of the Department, not a trained investigator.”

Strike one.

“You will be expected to give the computer aspect of the project your full cooperation.”

Strike two.

“Still with me? Your team leader is a female shrink whose previous job had something to do with testing shampoo.”

Strike three. Batter out!

Schultz stood up without a word and turned toward the door. Then he remembered the intensity of field work, the gratification when justice was done, the good feeling of getting some creep off the streets. If he did a good job on this case, maybe he could drop the computer stuff and the shrink afterward and get back to straight investigative work. The lure was there. The lure was strong.

“How many of the other guys did you ask before you got around to me?” he asked Wall.

“All of them.”

With his back to Wall, he smiled. At least the lieutenant was honest.

“What the hell. I’m your man.”

By the time PJ pulled into her sister’s driveway, she and Thomas were snapping at each other, and she was looking forward to dinner, a long, hot bath, and curling up with a good book, in whatever order she could manage. Her sister met her with the news that her new boss needed to talk to her right away. As Thomas unloaded their suitcases, unceremoniously dragging hers into the spare bedroom and his to the fold-out couch, she used the kitchen phone to give him a call.

“St. Louis Police Department. How may I direct your call?”

“Lieutenant Howard Wall, please.”

A moment later, he was on the phone, sounding as if he had his mouth full of food.

“Dr. Gray, good to talk to you. I’m glad your sister’s phone number was on your application. I figured you might stop there on your way to St. Louis. Hold on a sec.” She heard the sound of papers being gathered up into a ball and tossed. “Oops, got to get a bigger wastebasket. Not as good a hoop man as I was in the old days.” Apparently he had just finished eating dinner at his desk.

“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“That’s Howard, since we’re going to be working together. May I call you Penelope?”

“I prefer PJ.”

“Right. You’re in KC, aren’t you? That’s about four hours away?”

“Yes, I just arrived at my sister’s house, where I’ll be spending the weekend. My son’s unloading the car, and I really should be helping him. What’s this about?”

“Well, PJ, you might want to ask him to hold up on the unloading. I need you here tomorrow morning at the latest.”

“What? Hold on a minute.” She covered the mouthpiece.

“Mandy, could you take the kids into the living room? I’m having trouble hearing on the phone. I’ll join you in a little bit.” The noise receded like a train going off into the distance as PJ’s sister Mandy herded her four children out of the kitchen.

“Now then,” PJ said into the phone. “I thought I heard you say something about being in St. Louis by tomorrow?”

“There’s been a murder. The captain thinks it would be the perfect kickoff for CHIP. We got a guy lined up for your teammate, name of Schultz. Detective Leo Schultz. He’ll be doing most of the actual field work. In fact, he’s getting started on the case using standard investigative procedures. It’ll be up to you to bring the computer in on this.”

PJ was silent for a moment, trying to compose a response. This was a major blow. She had really been looking forward to some time with Mandy, had planned to talk over the troubles she was having with Thomas and get her sister’s down-to-earth advice. Even more disturbing was the fact that she had been led to believe that she would have several months to get CHIP up and running, and would be able to hire a couple of assistants. She decided on an approach that seemed reasonable to her.

“Howard, I really don’t think I can make much of a contribution on such short notice. I only have my personally developed simulation software available, and even that might take me a week or so to bring up. There’s a lot of customization to be done. Also, I thought I was going to have a couple of assistants, although I suppose I could get by with one to start.” She thought it was a stroke of brilliance to toss in the carrot about having only one assistant rather than two. But the carrot was not picked up.

“You have an assistant. Schultz.”

“I meant a computer analyst.”

“Well, you have a point there. Nobody would mistake Schultz for a computer anything.” He chuckled and made a slurping noise with a straw.

“I think it would be better to pass on this case. I’m looking at a six-month time frame, maybe four if CHIP gets two others besides me.”

This time it was Wall’s turn to be silent. After a long moment he sighed.

“Look, PJ, you’re listening to what I’m saying but you’re not hearing me.” His voice on the phone was serious but managed to convey concern. “I know about your time frame. I know about your assistants. Shit, I’m the one who interviewed you, remember? I hate to drop this on you like this, but I don’t have a choice. What I’m trying to tell you is that the captain’s got a scorpion up his ass about this, and if you’re not here and ready to roll by tomorrow morning, you don’t have a job.”

“I see.” Her voice wavered. “Just a moment, please.”

PJ put the phone in her lap. The stress and emotional pain of the last few months bore in on her, and this latest thing seemed too much to handle. For a little while she considered chucking the whole business and limping back to Denver. Or maybe running off to Timbuktu. When she thought she had recovered enough to keep her voice professional, she raised the phone from her lap.

“I’m hearing you now, Howard. Tell the captain I’ll be there at eight am sharp.”

She and Thomas got wearily back in the car to drive to St. Louis. Thomas had not exploded as she had expected. He simply lugged the suitcases back out to the car.

PJ nervously gobbled a whole bag of jelly beans on the drive.

At ten pm, the lights of fast food places beckoned, and PJ pulled into a motel right off I-70 in St. Charles, across the Missouri River from St. Louis, or at least from St. Louis County. Close enough. After checking into a basic room, she and Thomas devoured burgers and fries, then went back for a second helping and a milkshake for PJ.

Throughout it all, Thomas hadn’t said much. She knew he was disappointed to leave Aunt Mandy’s, but the only complaint he voiced was that the pillows in their non-smoking room smelled of cigarette smoke. He showered and dropped into bed. In a couple of minutes he was asleep, and she heard his soft breathing. Listening to it relaxed her. She used to sneak into his room at night just to watch his face in the glow of his man-in-the-moon night light and to listen to his breathing. It amazed her then, and still did, that she had known him so intimately, that he had grown within her body, eaten what she ate, and circulated the oxygen her lungs provided in his own red cells. She felt an almost mystical link to her son. Her whole body ached with love and with the fear that she had done something—taken him away from his father—that had hurt Thomas deeply. From her vantage point in the midst of her own emotional needs and imbalance, she couldn’t see how she could repair their relationship. And it didn’t look as though there was going to be any time to work on it right away. Other adult concerns intervened, such as getting herself established in a new city and earning money to pay for cupcakes and milkshakes—little things like that.

After showering, she sat on the edge of the bed, her hair wrapped in a towel. She dialed Wall’s home phone number, to check in and to get some facts about the case so that she wouldn’t be the only one in the dark tomorrow morning.